#i feel like scout would be team king kong

[rexscanonwife]

Also my partner and I have been watching the Legendary Godzilla movies (finished vs kong last night) and ngl...I imagined Artist and Scout growing up watching the original flicks and pictured them sitting in front of their teensy ass 50s television surrounded by their other brothers gushing about how cool Godzilla is 🥺🫶

[tf2fansderogatory]

random idea what characters do you think the team would main in smash bros

Scout:

I feel like he’s the kind of guy who has like 4,000 hours in smash, knows all of the terminology, and still gets his ass whooped by a newbie. in other words, absolute tryhard. refuses to play on any ruleset other than 3 stock 7 minutes OMEGA stage (that kind of bitch) but he usually ends up playing with the rest of the team on their horrible rulesets anyway because he’s desperate for someone to play with

that said, I could very easily see him either maining someone easy and stupid like Meta Knight (and he knows the combos and the tech but that doesn’t stop him from literally only using side B and Dair ever), or someone harder and stupid like Ness and he tries to do the combos but his fingers don’t bend that way.

either way he always loses.

he commentates his own gameplay way too loudly with all of the awesome techniques he’s using and he’s not actually doing any of them he’s just making shit up to sound cooler (he does not sound cooler)

favorite stage is any omega stage. not even battlefield. OMEGA. it’s really disappointing.

Soldier:

CAPTAIN FALCON. who the hell else. do I even need to elaborate

spends the entire game on one side of the stage falcon punching and hoping someone gets caught in the crossfire. surprisingly effective at KO’ing Scout

not sure about the favorite stage. I’m not sure he can even see the screen. he thinks Umbra Clocktower is cool on concept, though, because it looks like a piece of the Big Ben is hurtling through the sky like someone blew it up and, well, you know how he feels about England.

Pyro:

King Dedede. Pastel alt. Actually pretty good, but if the team plays with items on (which is almost always unless Scout picks the ruleset) they’re usually single-handedly focused on grabbing items and using them since they’re fun to play with.

favorite stage is Magicant. they like the bird guy.

Demo:

he thought Bayonetta looked cool.

that’s it.

he can hold his own. he’s competent. he knows how to recover with her and everything. for some reason every time he spikes someone with down smash (which is a lot because everybody he’s playing against isn’t really that sure how to play the game) he yells “THE BOOOOOOT” really loud and starts scream-laughing and it’s endearing about twice and then is just kind of annoying

the drunker he is the better he is at the game. it’s some unwritten law of Demo

favorite stage is Jungle Japes. he likes pushing people into the river underneath it’s really funny

Heavy:

doesn’t know any of the characters and is not remotely consistent in his choice. he usually picks heavyweights because he likes… the weight. of the character and the attacks. I think he’s especially fond of goofy ones like Incineroar and King K. Rool though because they’re funny to him

if he accidentally chooses a character like K. Rool, he doesn’t really bother with projectiles. honestly in the end of it he probably just spams dash and smash attacks and isn’t sure how to jump and somehow this strategy works a lot. I don’t think he ever uses specials. all that is there to him is the left stick and the A button.

his favorite stage is Gaur Plain. absolute hell to navigate with most heavyweights but he doesn’t care. he thinks it’s pretty

Engineer:

D K. DONKEY KONG. D K. DONKEY KONG IS H

too much dad energy to not play DK. like, I was considering putting in Pac-Man or some character you’d need his IQ to play properly but… c’mon. he plays DK. just look at him.

unlike Scout, knows the terms and techs and stuff and actually uses them. could wipe anyone’s ass single-handedly, but he usually wins once or twice at the start of any session and then mysteriously gets way worse at the game (he’s letting everybody else win:))

one time Demo accused him of holding back though and that was not a fun night for anyone except Engy. he’s out there pulling shit off no pro’s ever dreamed of with DK. his brain’s forty steps ahead at all times. if he put his mind to it he could be one of the best players in the world but to be frank a lil’ video game’s not really at the forefront of his mind. maybe later.

favorite stage is… also Jungle Japes, for the exact same reason as Demo

Medic:

absolute force of chaos. picks a character at random and then proceeds to button-mash into the most dogshit strategy ever conceived. wins a surprising amount. is notable for taking the only win anyone’s ever gotten in a 1v1 against Engy, somehow taking the title with Inkling and a lot of blatant roller spam.

you know what they say: can’t read someone who isn’t thinking.

(Engy was doing slightly worse than usual and decided to let him win, for the record, but that’s between us.)

favorite stage is 75m because he heard Scout complaining about it a few times and wants to watch him suffer.

Sniper:

he thinks King K. Rool is cute.

perfectly content to stand on one side of the stage and press the B button until he inevitably gets knocked off, forgets how to recover, and dies. one of the most boring smash players you will ever watch. sometimes he gets fed up and goes oouygghhgh time to pull out the big guy they’ll all regret this and then he plays Kirby and spams up B until someone figures out how to jump and hit him off the stage and he dies again. to be honest it’s a little upsetting.

he likes omega stages because they’re flat and projectiles travel over them easier. it’s slightly less upsetting than why Scout picks omega stages, but barely.

Spy:

refuses to play smash. at all. he will NOT entertain your childish games, thank you very much.

(sometimes Scout gets him to play late at night when everyone else is asleep or slowly rotting away in their workshop/laboratory. he plays Sheik, a combo-heavy character that “requires skill”. he’s not good at it, but Scout isn’t either. Scout still takes most of the games. Spy doesn’t mind it, but keep that between us.)

why would he have a favorite stage? he wouldn’t touch that filth.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part II

[ previous ] 

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 10.2k

Warnings: specific character attributes (not appearance, mentioned favorite color, movie, etc.), oral, rough sex, multiple orgasms, Erwin is kind of annoying, semi-exhibitionism, too much testosterone  A/N: And, here we go again. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part and told me about it. This one’s for y’all~

Mike immediately notices when you start to avoid him. You had already been doing it, but now it's to the point of ducking into buildings you have no business being in and walking a little too briskly when you catch sight of him somewhere on campus. You also won't get anywhere near the Pi Kappa Alpha house.

 And, he gets it. He fucked up that night. Or, he didn't fuck up, but he opened up. Too much. Showed that he was willing to be vulnerable, and you obviously had not liked that. 

 The first week of watching you duck and cover from afar isn't so bad. He's a little bummed, yeah, but he figures you'll come around, if not for him then at least for his dick. 

 But, one week turns to two, and Mike gets irritated, a little angry even. Because it's not like he did anything wrong. It's not like you haven't wanted it every time. 

 He doesn't know your class schedule exactly, but he does know when you get out of your 11 AM and have to cross the courtyard to your dorm. It's where Mike caught you last time when he was playing frisbee with Nile, and it's where he catches you now. 

 Your speed walking is no match for his normal stride, and he easily closes the distance between you two and grabs your wrist to tug you toward a more private area by the library. 

 "What the fu—what are you doing?" You spit, pulling yourself free. 

 "What are you doing?"

 "Trying to get to my fucking room to nap! Is that okay?" 

 Mike ignores it, glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, then asks, "Why are you avoiding me?" 

 Scoffing, you mumble an unconvincing, "I haven't been avoiding you."

 "Bullshit."

 "I've just been busy, okay? Midterms are coming up, and I'm falling behind…" He can tell you're lying by the way you can't meet his eyes. "I need to focus."

 "Am I that big of a distraction?" 

 You don't miss a beat—"Yes," and your eyes widen at your own answer like you're surprised by it. 

 Mike raises his eyebrows, taken off guard, and you try to cover your tracks. "I mean, like, I don't have time to be fucking frat boys. And, I know you have the pick of the litter, so it's not like you'll go without." 

 He has to bite his tongue, a confession right on the tip of it—I pick you—but knows that's the last thing you want to hear. It's too early for thoughts like that anyway. You're too closed off, and he's too transparent. It's not like anything serious could work out anyway, and even if it could, he shouldn't tie himself down. 

 "I mean, yeah, but—"

 You hold a hand up, take a deep breath. "Look, I'll be honest with you. You seem like an okay guy, but you should find some other girl to do this with. I don't wanna be another notch on your bedpost—"

 "Then, don't be. We can just hang out."

 "Yeah, we tried that at the party and still ended up sleeping together."

 "We can make it a rule then." He's trying too hard, he knows, but he can't help it. "No fucking. I won't come onto you, and you won't come onto me."

 You snort and pick at the hem of your shirt, obviously not buying any of this. "Why do you wanna be friends so bad anyway? Is it the hard-to-get thing? Is it that I'm making it difficult?"

 "Maybe but not entirely."

 Why does he want to be your friend so badly? You haven't given him any real reason to. You can bond over nerd shit here and there, but other than that, you don't have a lot in common. 

 You just seem… Cool. Aloof. Like you don't give a shit about anyone or anything, and Mike never thought he'd find that attractive in a girl, but apparently he does. 

 "Just come over one more time. We can watch something again or—"

 "I'm not going into your room again!"

 "You don't have to," Mike says, speaking with his hands to emphasize his point. "We can stay in the living room. Totally public. Any of the guys could walk in."

 "Has that ever stopped any of you before?"

 Not a hundred percent of the time. Mike has definitely seen more of Erwin and Gelgar than he'd like, but he can tell a little white lie.

 "Yes." 

 You stare up at him, a skeptical look on your face, and then, "I'll see if I can pencil you in." 

 "Fuck yeah, I promise I'll show you a good time without, like, showing you a good time." 

 "Yeah, whatever." 

 You're unimpressed, turn to walk away, but Mike is feeling a little too triumphant, a little too bold, and catches you before you can get too far. 

 He premises, "Just to get it out of my system," then bends down and kisses you. Palms covering your cheeks, fingers curling around the back of your head kisses you. He uses both of his thumbs, just under your mouth, to part your lips so that he can slide his tongue past them, and you push at his chest half-heartedly, no real force to it as you let him lick into your mouth. 

 The first whimper that escapes you is what makes you break away, your hands stronger against him to shove him back, and Mike smirks when you glare at him. 

 "You're on thin fucking ice, Zacharias. Thin ice."

 "I'll keep it in mind."

 With that, you leave the little alcove the two of you were in, grumbling and cursing the whole way. Mike just watches the sway of your hips and licks his lips. 

 *

 You come over on a Saturday afternoon. Mike can tell you've tried to make yourself look not cute in loose, ripped jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn't work. Mike still smiles, and you still roll your eyes at him before kicking your shoes off by the door. 

 "Okay, so what are we doing?" You ask, sitting two cushions away from him on the couch. 

 "I brought my Switch in here, so we have that…"

 "Oh, do you have the SNES games downloaded?" 

 "Dumb question. Of course I do."

 "Rude. Open that shit up."

 He does, and you demand to play Donkey Kong, which Mike has no problem with, but, "A please would be nice."

 You click your tongue, holding your hand out for the second tiny controller and tell him, "You don't get to hear me beg anymore."

 Mike feels his shorts tighten, but all he does is kick a foot over his thigh and warn you, "Best not test my self-control like that."

 "Is that a threat?" You laugh, toggling down to 'Two Player' on the screen and clicking it. 

 "Not a threat." He bobs his head to the theme music. "Just lettin’ you know."

 You get as far as Mine Cart Carnage together, but Mike ends up getting tossed from the cart, leaving you to take over as Diddy. He watches the way you move with your character, sitting up straighter, raising the controller to your chest, swaying one way then the next as if your body is tied directly to the game. 

 Erwin walks in a little while later when you're focused on Stop & Go Station. He sits down in a plush chair, phone in his hand that he ignores in favor of asking, "What are you guys doing out here? Shouldn't you be in Mike's room?"

 Mike glances at him, gives him a look and shakes his head, but you're much less subtle when you snap, "Can it, Smith," eyes never leaving the screen. 

 "Don't count on that," Mike snorts. "I think it’s physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut for longer than four seconds." 

 "Wooow," Erwin drawls, thick eyebrows high in offense. "I'm supposed to be able to trust you, and now you're just talking shit right in front of me."

 "For some reason, I get the feeling your ego can't get bruised that easily," you muse out loud. 

 "I'll have you know I can be very sensitive," Erwin informs you matter-of-factly. "I have a heart. I have feelings. And, I've been told on multiple occasions that I'm more considerate than most men, so there."

 You laugh, a silly sound that gets stuck in your throat. "Oh, really? And how many of those women—'cause that's what they are, I'm sure—were left behind after they built you up like that, hm?"

 Biting both of his lips, Erwin sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I plead the fifth on that one."

 "Uh huh, that's what I thought."

 While you're fixated on the screen, Mike glances over at his friend, sees blue eyes shining as Erwin stares at you, a tell-tale smirk on his face. He's amused by you. Interested, even. 

 You stay for about an hour longer before going back to the dorms. As soon as the front door shuts, Mike swivels around and points a finger at Erwin, uttering a low, "Don't you dare," that makes the blond chuckle. 

 "Wouldn't dream of it."

 *

 You mostly hang out on weekends and only in small bursts. Alternating between movies and video games, it's a little hard to speak to one another, but Mike is still able to pry some information out of you and share more about himself. 

 You're majoring in geological and earth sciences while Mike is working toward a degree in environmental science— "Kinda weird we haven't run into each other before." 

 You played basketball for a year in high school before getting annoyed by the other girls. Mike, on the other hand, made some of his best friends on his old soccer team. 

 You had a ferret growing up and now you'll "Never get another pet again 'cause when he died, I died a little with him." (It's the first time Mike has ever seen tears in your eyes, but you blink them away at record speed). He tells you about the dogs his family has had and how the one at home with his parents now is actually his. (Her name's Scout, and I would take a bullet for her.") 

 Hitch is your best friend even though she irritates the shit out of you, and Mike says something similar about Erwin. "He's a good guy. He's just… Passionate about so many things. He gets obsessive. Drives me insane."

 "Obsessed with that pussyyy," you joke in a deep, stupid voice. 

 Mike snorts, "Perv," and keeps watching the movie that's playing. 

 And, speaking of movies, your favorite Disney film is The Fox and The Hound— "Good taste," while his is Lion King— "Classic." As far as other movies, though, the two of you spend half an hour arguing over which Mel Brooks is the best, end up having to agree to disagree (Young Frankenstein vs. High Anxiety).

 Your favorite color is green. Your favorite food is pizza (“What are you, twelve?”). Your favorite animal is the pangolin. They’re all little facts that Mike stores away, and by the end of the semester, he actually feels like he kind of knows you, and somehow, against all odds, you've managed to not hookup through it all. 

 That's not to say it hasn't been hard (that he hasn't been hard). Sometimes you come over in skin tight jeans or crop tops, outfits that accentuate your body in all the right ways, and Mike is pretty sure that you do it on purpose. 

 You're both careful not to drink too much at parties, aware of the likely consequences, but you hang around him enough to gain people's attention—jealous girls watching in disappointment, curious guys sizing you up. 

 Questions inevitably arise. You complain about Hitch pestering you for details that you will not give her, and he tells you how he has to keep brushing off his brothers. 

 "She doesn't, like, know we've had sex—would never fucking leave me alone if she did. But she and all her other little friends are so annoying about it."

 You're on the steps outside of the frat house, jackets zipped up, nursing steaming cups of cocoa you got from the nearby shop. 

 "So, what do you tell them?" Mike asks. 

 You shrug your shoulders. "That we're not fucking. Just friends. They don't believe me, but that's my story, and I'm sticking to it, dammit."

 Mike laughs through his nose and takes another drink. "I mean, it's not a lie since we're not fucking and we are friends."

 You make a high pitched noise, doubtful, challenging. "Friends is a strong word."

 "Whatever." 

 He's used to you doing that now, denying him every chance you get even in a joking way. You've never once admitted to any type of feelings out loud, and he isn't sure why, some kind of avoidance behavior, but he won't complain because he knows you're at least a little fond of him. You wouldn't keep spending time with him if you weren't. 

 Deciding to change the subject, Mike prompts, "So, Erwin's party over the break," and you glance at him over your cup with interest. "You're coming, right?" 

 "I don't know. Isn't it at, like, his ranch house in bum fuck nowhere?" 

 "Kinda. It's only about a two hour drive from here, but it's definitely off the beaten path."

 "I'll have to see. Need to spend time with my mom while I can." 

 Understandable. He's looking forward to seeing his own parents (and Scout, of course). 

 The last game of the season is played and won, then finals pass after too many all-nighters and too much Red Bull. Mike actually sighs in relief when he slides into his white Wrangler, all packed up and ready to make the drive back to his house. 

 He sends one text before pulling out onto the main road—Be safe—and hopes he won't have to wait an entire month to see you again. 

*

 Staying with your mom is nice but always slightly depressing. The house is empty with just her in it, less lived in than ever before. You can tell exactly which spots she spends most of her time in—her office to work and the couch in front of the TV to wind down. 

 You sleep in your old bedroom, spend most evenings texting Hitch after your mom goes to bed, but a few conversations with Mike slip in too. He sends you several pictures of Scout—beautiful but always wearing one of those perpetual Boxer frowns—and in return, you send him pictures of the pretty betta your mother has in her office. It's the best you can do. 

 After a week of being in your hometown, you're ready to leave it again. It's not terrible or in a bad part of town. It's just… lacking. You'd never tell your mother this, but you have a feeling she knows. It's probably why she doesn't put up a fight when you tell her you're gonna run off for a couple days to attend Erwin's party. 

 "I promise I'll be back. It's just one night and then the drive back."

 Her tone is very serious when she tells you to stay out of trouble, but then she walks you out to your car and hugs you, watching and waving as you drive away. 

 You text Erwin on the way there to ask if it's okay to arrive early—like a few hours early cause I needed to get out of my house—and he replies enthusiastically.

 Absolutely! Mike and Levi are already here 😃

 You have no idea who this Levi is outside of hearing Erwin mention him a few times, but you very quickly find out when you get to the large but secluded house. You see Erwin's stupid (gorgeous) vintage Mustang parked in the gravel driveway as well as Mike's white Jeep and an unfamiliar, black Prius. 

 All three of them are on the porch occupying outdoor chairs that probably cost more than your fucking dorm expenses, but Mike and Erwin both stand when you make your way up the sidewalk. Staying seated, or really sprawled out with his hands behind his head, is a fairly small man (boy, maybe) with inky hair and sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s dressed much differently than the other two, ripped jeans, Doc Martens, and a striped long sleeved shirt under a short sleeved band tee. 

 “What in the e-boy fuck…” You mutter to yourself, nodding at the blonds and letting Mike take your backpack—not that you really have a choice considering your grip on it is no match for his. 

 “Was the drive okay?” He asks, swinging the bag over his shoulder and making it look incredibly small. 

 “Yeah. Once I hit the backroads I could start going, like, eighty-five, so that shaved some time off.”

 Mike snorts. “You sound like Erwin. Dude’s always speeding.”

 “Don’t fucking start with me. I was in the car with you when you almost hit a pedestrian on a crosswalk.”

 “We don’t talk about that.”

 Everyone follows Erwin inside the house. It’s just as nice as you thought it’d be, sprawling and open with wood floors, plush furniture, and rustic decorations. There are moose antlers mounted in one room and a god damned bear head in another. It makes you roll your eyes, but to say you’re unimpressed would be a flat out lie. 

 “Not everyone is staying the night, but I know you have to, so just pick an upstairs room,” Erwin tells you after the grand tour. “I can take you around on the golf cart once you settle in.”

 You see Mike roll his green eyes and amend, “We can take you around.” 

 “Yeah,” Erwin nods. “That’s what I meant.”

 Levi is making a face up at Erwin, furrowed brow, squinty eyes, and a little grimace. He hasn’t said more than two words to you since you’ve arrived (“I’m Levi.”), but he doesn’t seem like the chatterbox type, a little more standoffish, and you can’t blame him for that. 

 “Just in case you’re wondering, I’m in the middle room,” Mike tells you with a grin.

 “And why, pray tell, would I be wondering that?”

 He basically sings in his deep voice, “No reason,” then walks back downstairs with Erwin and Levi, leaving you to make yourself comfortable. 

 You take the bedroom at the far end of the hallway out of spite more than anything, but you figure the farther away you can be from Mike the better. After setting your things down and organizing deodorant, perfume, and every day jewelry on the dresser, you join the guys downstairs to find them huddling over the kitchen island talking about plans for the night. 

 “Should we get a keg? It won’t be that many people, but it might be easier to just pour from one,” Erwin thinks out loud. 

 “Don’t bother getting a keg if it’s gonna be the same shitty beer you guys have at Pike parties,” you chime in, hip checking Mike so that he’ll scoot over and allow you join their little meeting. 

 Levi lets out a little laugh, the most expressive you’ve seen him so far, while the other two pout at your criticism. 

 “Why don’t you pick the beer then?” Erwin prompts. “Since you have such refined tastes.” 

 Eyebrows lifting, you laugh. “Oh, we’ve got a smartass in the house tonight.” The blond smirks and dusts off his shoulders, making Mike groan in either annoyance or embarrassment. You can’t be sure which one. 

 “Fuck, is this what it’s always like between you three?” Levi asks, looking between all of you. “Just constant bickering?”

 “More or less.”

 “That seems exhausting.”

 “It is,” you confirm. “‘S’why I can only hang out with them in small doses.”

 “Ouch.”

 “Wounded.”

 “Anyway,” you let your head hang so that all they can see is your shoulders shaking as you giggle, and when you look back up, you make sure that the smile is mostly wiped from your face. “I’m not saying I’m some kind of beer expert, but I at least know that the shit you serve at parties is rancid.”

 “And yet, you always seem to forget,” Mike teases. “I always end up having to finish yours.”

 “You don’t have to. You choose to, you fucking alkie.”

 It’s hard to come to any sort of decision with the non-stop push and pull of the conversation, and eventually Levi just walks away to let the three of you work it out. Erwin orders a keg of Rolling Rock, says something about, “Dad won’t mind me splurging a little since I downsized this whole thing for him,” and you scoff at him. 

 He’s well aware of his privilege, talks about it in an ironic manner that’s both maddening and hilarious— “Father is going to let me take the yacht out this weekend,” and, “Oh, that’s not country club appropriate.” It makes you laugh every fucking time, but it also usually earns him a smack or two. 

 The next few hours are spent gathering party supplies and getting the house ready (as in moving some furniture around and hiding valuables). Erwin leaves to pick up the keg after assuring the vendor on the phone that he can drive to them and pay extra for the short notice. You don’t know how he manages it, but you assume his confidence has a lot to do with it.

 Only about twenty people are supposed to come, “An Erwin Smith exclusive,” Mike jokes with you as you stash a couple of vases in the kitchen cabinets. 

 “Oh, does that mean I’m special?” You play.

 “Absolutely.”

 There’s something churning in your gut as you move around downstairs with Mike and Levi, an omniscient feeling, like you know how the night will end, but you’re going to fight it every step of the way. You’ve made it this long without a slip-up, and you’re determined to make it one more night. 

 Erwin gets back with about three hours to spare. He and Mike disappear to change into what you assume to be their usual douche-y attire, and you and Levi sit alone in the large living room waiting quietly. 

 You’re surprised when he speaks first, stating, “You don’t seem the sorority type.”

 Turning, you try to make sense of it, respond, “Well, I’m not.” You’re almost offended that he’d even consider you were.

 “Then what are you doing hanging around with those frat boy fucks?”

 “Oh, that.” You sigh. “Uhh, my friend made me go to one of their parties, and I just… Made an impression, I guess.”

 “You fucked one of ‘em, didn’t you?” Levi is smirking, so sure of himself that you don’t really see the point in denying it.

 “Yeah.”

 “Rich boy or the giant?”

 You look over at him, defenses rising like they did your first night in the Pi Kappa Alpha house. “The fuck is it to you?”

 Holding his hands up, Levi chuckles, “Alright, alright, forget I asked.”

 You cross your arms over your chest, stare off as you wonder if it’s actually that hard to tell. You figured it would be obvious that you’re more comfortable with Mike than with Erwin, but you have been getting more used to the other brazen blond over the last few months, just like you’ve been getting a little more used to Nile and all the other brothers. You haven’t sucked any of their dicks, though. 

 “How’d you meet Erwin?” You try.

 You’re not surprised when Levi snarks, “The fuck is it to you?” 

 You can’t tell if the two of you are going to leave this ranch house as mortal enemies or as friends, but it’ll definitely be one of them. 

 “‘Cause you don’t seem the type to hang out with them either,” you tell him.

 It's definitely odd. He and Erwin have to go back some time to have been able to stick together through their college years and all of their superficial differences. 

 Levi admires the black polish on his nails then informs you in a bored tone, “We’ve been friends since we were kids, but it’s no big deal. Just can’t get rid of him.”

 The corner of his mouth turns upward, so he can’t be too heartbroken over it. You understand that, haven’t quite been able to shake your puppy-dog of a friend since the beginning of the semester, but you’re not as annoyed about it as you pretend to be. 

 “They certainly do get attached,” you hum.

 The two men in question join you once again, looking much more palatable in jeans and v-necks. Erwin has a button-down hanging open and rolled up to his elbows while Mike is wearing a black and white flannel in similar fashion. It’s the most casual they’ve been at a party, and you can’t help but joke, “Wow, look at you two. More human, less lizard people for once.”

 Erwin rolls his eyes while Mike mumbles a Doctor Who reference that makes you suck on the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. 

 He’s got his charm turned on tonight, the kind that appeals to you, which will definitely pose a problem.

 People start arriving at around eight, some you recognize from the college, some you don’t who you assume to be some of Erwin’s older friends. Gelgar taps the keg within minutes of walking in then plays the role of bartender for the next ten minutes as everyone lines up for a drink. There’s liquor and mixers set up on the counter, and you consider just making your usual, but you figure you should have at least a little of the beer since you’re the one who fought for the more expensive brand. 

 When you get your cup, foam nearly overflowing past the rim, you take one sip only to cough it back up when Mike shows off his usual party trick—appearing out of thin air—and asks, “You gonna finish it this time?”

 You splutter as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand then glare up at him. “I’m gonna try, but it’s gonna be pretty fuckin’ difficult if you keep making me spit up like a god damn baby.”

 He’s amused, light eyes dancing mischievously, and you know you’re in for a long night. 

 Erwin has a playlist filtering through the house’s sound system, a nice balance of several different genres playing at a bearable volume for the first time. Games start up in the kitchen, rage cage around the island, beer pong at the table, and while you’re content to just wallflower in the corner, Mike drags you into it. 

 “You’re just as bad as Hitch," you complain, but he isn't fazed, just plants you in an open spot at the island and stands right beside you. He's gonna regret doing that; rage cage is one of the only competitive games you're actually good at, but he'll find that out. 

 It's fast-paced, full of screaming and laughing, jumping and shoving. You get to slam your cup into Mike's on several occasions, drawing curses from him every time. 

 "Honestly, it's a little embarrassing," you ridicule with a smile. 

 He downs the small amount of beer in the cup he pulls, adds it to the stack, then challenges, "I'll show you embarrassing. Just wait." 

 You've had maybe two beers altogether, but it still sends a jolt down your spine. 

 The two of you play another couple of rounds, and Mike does seem to catch on a little more, but he eventually bows out and pulls you away with him. 

 More beer. Meandering around the party. It's pretty tame in comparison to all the Pike events you've attended, but the later it gets, the rowdier everyone becomes. Music gets turned up to dance. The keg stops being used for pouring and starts being used for stands. You have the absolute pleasure of watching Erwin hold Levi upside down as the smaller man chugs as much as he can. He beats Nile's record, raises his arms in victory as Erwin shakes him by the shoulders in excitement. 

 "They're pretty close, yeah?" 

 Mike looks down at you as you stand on your tip-toes to get closer to his ear as you speak. 

 He nods. "I don't really understand them, but yeah. They've been friends since, like, elementary school, I think."

 "No shit?"

 "No shit."

 You play beer pong against Gelgar and Nile, end up losing by quite a lot, and by the time you finish the remaining cups and another full drink, you're feeling good. Warm, happy, dangerously giggly. 

 Mike stands too close as you make your rounds to talk to people, many of them asking how the lacrosse season went. He puffs his chest a little, tries and fails to act modest, but instead of getting irritated like you usually do, you find yourself resting your cheek against his arm as you shake your head. You don't know if the action is to disagree with him or to get closer, but it makes Mike chuckle and shift so that he can wrap that arm around you and pull you to his chest instead. 

 He smells nice—woodsy with a sweet little bite. It makes your mouth water. You try to call back your determination from before, that readiness to fight and deny, but Mike's body is firm and massive and hot against yours, and he's also drunk and smiling sideways. His eyes are hazy and gorgeous when he peers down at you. His stubble has grown into that perfect length, the kind that feels incredible between your legs, and you can already see your hands tugging at his shaggy hair as he flips it from his face. 

 "You okay?" He rumbles, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

 He knows. You know he knows. And, he knows that you know that— 

 Fuck. Stop. Just…

 "What do you think?" You're aware of what you're saying. The words make perfect sense. You just can't stop them from falling from your mouth is all. 

 "I don't know," Mike says, a playful lilt to his voice. "Why don't you tell me?" 

 You're not sure if he's asking for your consent or if he just wants to humiliate you by making you spell it out for him. 

 "I mean…" Your gaze travels from his face to his neck to his pecs and downward. "The semester is over."

 "It is," he agrees, hand moving from your waist to your hip. 

 "Don't really need to be, uh… What's the word…" You squeeze your eyes shut, splaying your fingers on his stomach. "Studious," you snap. "Don't need to be so studious on vacation."

 Mike very slowly starts walking backwards toward the staircase, holding you at arms length by both your hips now. 

 "No, you really don't." 

 Voice of reason fading away, you step around him but grab his hand, taking the stairs two by two until you're on the balcony that wraps above the living room. Once you slip into the closer room, yours, you lock the door. 

 Mike's mouth is familiar in its desperation—tastes like beer and want and him. He pulls his flannel off behind him by the sleeves just in time for you to start pushing his shirt up over his abs, in awe all over again at the muscle group. 

 It's really not fair. 

 You pause between kisses to strip, smiling and groaning whenever your lips meet again. You've missed it on some level—the heat, the fucking attraction you just can't shake. All the times you hung out with him, purposely keeping distance, avoiding flirting and touching and staring—you figured it would come to a head. You even guessed there was a good chance that it would be at this party. 

 But, that doesn't mean you're prepared when he throws you onto the bed, doesn't prepare you for the way he bites your lip and sucks on your neck and pinches your nipples until you moan his name and grind against him, and it certainly doesn't prepare you for the way he spreads your legs, runs his nose up the inside of your thigh, then drags his tongue over your slit. 

 "Fuck, Mike." 

 He groans, quick to slide the muscle into your pulsing cunt to taste you. His fingertips are digging into the fat of your thighs, keeping you still save for your trembling which makes the feeling of his mouth even more intense. You want to buck against his face, want to put out the fire raging inside of you by moving somehow, letting some of the energy out, but you can't. All you can do is lay there as Mike licks around your hole and nibbles at your clit and laps up your juices. 

 "Missed this fuckin' pussy," he breathes, sucking on one of your lips and then the other, pulling blood to the surface and making them puffy and sensitive. 

 You card fingers through his hair before fisting your hand in it and shoving his face further into your cunt, trying as hard as you fucking can to ride any part of him you can manage—his tongue, his nose, anything that will give you friction. 

 The sound he makes at your pathetic attempt is bestial, a low, throaty grunt as he rubs his chin up and down your slit, drenching himself in your slick and quickly overstimulating your swollen clit with his stubble. 

 "Oh fuck, oh fuck—"

 "You wanted it," he grits. "You pushed your sloppy little cunt right in my face, so now you've gotta take everything I give you." 

 You cry as he continues the motion, pussy drooling as the little bud starts to grow raw. "Mike, please, please…"

 "Gonna make sure you feel this tomorrow." He stops only to lean back down and suck your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue is soft in comparison to the coarse hair, but it still makes your hips twitch, and when he grazes his teeth over it, you squeal and kick. 

 It's so close to hurting, right on the edge, but it's that helplessness that has you steadily leaking on the bed. It's what makes it easy for Mike to push a finger into your clenching hole, pump a couple times, then slide another one in beside it. 

 Your climax is coiling in your gut, compressed like a spring and only getting tighter with every thrust of long, thick fingers and every measured flick of his tongue. 

 Gripping his hair again, you ride it out. Mike loosens his grip just enough to allow you to undulate in time with the waves that wash over you, and you moan loudly as he moves to flatten his tongue over your entrance so that you come on and against it. 

 He gives you some time to settle down, but you know he isn't done yet, and since you're not quite ready to take his cock in your sensitive pussy, you pull your legs from the sides of his head and crawl to lay with your head off the side of the bed. 

 Mike gets the picture immediately, and you hear a huff of air leave him all at once before he clambers off the mattress to position himself at the edge. You're a little too low, so he grabs all four pillows to shove under you, and as he does, you lavish his bobbing cock with kitten licks, going as far as sucking on his balls when he leans over you. 

 "Jesus fucking—" 

 You can feel the way they tighten, his cockhead dripping pre that lands just below the notch of your sternum. It isn't until he's thoroughly coated in spit that you stop and let him straighten, then open your mouth and relax your shoulders. 

 Mike is careful as he slides his tip past your lips, letting you adjust to the weight of his cock in your mouth before he pushes in a little further. Your eyes start watering as soon as he passes between your molars, making you stretch your jaw and drool from the corners of your mouth. 

 He pulls out then, taps his cockhead on your cheek, leaving a mix of precum and spit on your skin before lining himself up again and sliding back in. 

 He repeats the process a few times as if it'll actually get you used to his size, but it's just not possible. You gag and gurgle, slurp back drool when you're given the chance, and your entire body throbs when Mike tells you, "I'm gonna give you more now, okay? Wanna see your throat bulge with my cock."

 You moan around him, try to make the passage of your mouth and esophagus as straight as possible then let your eyes roll back as he slips into the tighter sleeve for a few seconds. Your toes dig into the bedspread, fingers clawing at the material as you fight back the panic that comes with not being able to breathe. 

 Mike pulls out panting, and you wish you could see his face, the look in his eyes, but you can't. All you can do is lap at his cock until he pushes it into your mouth again. 

 This time when he slips into your throat, he reaches down to press a hand to your neck, letting out a deep, disbelieving laugh as he feels the way his length moves in it. "Holy shit. I could—" he just barely gives you more, and your responding whine is completely muffled by him, "—Could come like this."

 The thought makes you tingle. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen. You are feeling a little lightheaded. But the idea of him coming down your throat, right into your stomach, fuck, it makes your cunt pulse again. 

 Mike pulls out, and you suck in deep breaths, a little sob making your chest heave. Tears are streaming from your eyes, getting caught in your hair, and you have to wipe other various fluids from your face. 

 He helps you sit back up, rubs your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck as your heart rate returns to normal. As soon as he sees you relax, though, he's tugging you from the bed and bending you over it. 

 The scream that's pushed from you is hoarse as you're split open on his cock. Mike holds you by the hair, pulling your head back as he snaps his hips forward and back relentlessly. He slides in and out of you easily, but that doesn't mean he isn't stretching you to your breaking point. 

 You shake on the bed, thankful when he lets go of your head so that you can fall back to the mattress, crying and moaning all you want. 

 "Feel so good, baby," Mike groans. "So good."

 He punctuates it with a slap to your ass that causes you to squeeze him, and that only encourages him to repeat the action until both your cheeks are radiating heat and stinging from his hands. 

 He flips you like a doll, and you're finally able to see his face clearly as he stares down at you with a dropped jaw and heavy lids. You know you're a mess, fucked out and sloppy, but as he abuses your g-spot with the ridge of his cock, all you can do is grin drunkenly and let your eyes roll. 

 "So pretty when you smile," he praises. Fingers grip your chin, and when you're able to focus your gaze again you find Mike leaning over you, face level with yours. "Open your mouth for me." His tone is soft yet demanding, and you don't hesitate for a second as you do what you're told. 

 Mike pushes spit through his lips, letting it drip and stretch until it lands on your tongue. It makes you feel cheap and disgusting, but it doesn't stop you from squirting around him. 

 Devolving into nothing more than grunts and groans, Mike continues to fuck into you but straightens so that he can reach your clit better. He flicks it back and forth until your true orgasm hits you, and then he keeps going. 

 You cry out, squirm wildly beneath him, but all it results in is two fingers being shoved in your mouth. Stroking over the back of your tongue, more saliva pours from your mouth just like the slick that pours from your pussy while he toys with your clit. 

 You come again. And again. When Mike finally removes his hand from between your legs, you're nothing more than a puddle, moaning and crying for him. 

 Every orgasm has made your walls swell around him, his cock feeling longer and thicker than ever as he kisses your cervix with every thrust. That lightheaded sensation is back, white dots dancing around your eyes, and you just barely manage out his name, tapping in his forearm. 

 "Need… need…"

 "What do you need, babe?"

 Your arms curl up by your head, fingers moving and spasming as every one of your senses is overwhelmed.

  "Need you to—t-to—to come. Need you to c-come." 

 You've never had to tap out before, but you can't take him anymore. His size. His expression. His lack of fucking mercy.

 "Yeah?" He coos, but his cock is still dragging in and out of you. You nod, but Mike draws it out, asking, "Where do you want me to come?"

 "Don't… Care…"

 "You don't care?" He's still moving, fucking you absolutely stupid as he lists out, "Your face? Your tits?" He gropes your chest, pinching both nipples, and the fact that you don't even whimper must clue him into the fact that he's about to lose you. 

 Your mind is swimming, fading every time he pulls out only to be brought back online when he pushes back in. 

 "What about your pussy? Want me to come all over your pussy?" 

 You moan, the simplest part of your brain apparently finding that appealing, so after a few more thrusts, Mike pulls out entirely and jerks himself off until he covers your folds in hot cum. He gets some on your thighs, some on your pelvis, soaks your peaking clit so that you take in a stuttering breath. 

 His hand is between your legs again, fingertips spreading the viscous fluid around and dipping into your slit.

 Your eyes shoot open for the first time in God knows how long, a panicked, "M-Mike," tumbling from your lips, but he hushes you.

 "I'm not pushing it inside or anything. Just having fun."

 And, fuck, tonight is the night you learn how filthy he is. Mike spends a few solid minutes rubbing his seed over your puffy lips, fingers the raw tissue around your hole so that you leak for him, then uses it to massage your clit slowly and softly, pulling one last orgasm from you that makes fresh tears spring in your eyes. 

 You're going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, but you can't regret it—not when your legs continue to shake long after your climax, not when you can already feel that satisfying ache deep inside of you, not when Mike crawls to sit on the bed and lifts you into his arms. 

 "You okay?" He asks into your hair. 

 He's rubbing soothing circles on your stomach as you drift in and out. You know you need to shower, but you're so tired and so wrecked, you doubt you'll be able to stand for long enough to clean yourself. 

 "Did I hurt you?" 

 "Mm, little bit," you tell him honestly. You can actually feel his heart start to beat harder in his chest, so you reassure him, "Liked it, though."

 You think something like twenty minutes pass, but you can't be sure as you keep dozing. It's hard not to with Mike rubbing your stomach, his body rising and falling in rhythm with every breath he takes. 

 When your eyes open more than halfway, you begin to move, grimacing at the soreness between your legs as well as the mess. 

 "'m gonna hop in the shower," you announce. 

 Mike sits up too, stretches his arms and asks through a groan, "Want me to come with?"

 "You've done enough coming tonight," you snort. "But nah, I can clean myself on my own."

 His eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't say anything, just lets you get up and walk to the bathroom on shaky legs. 

 The hot water almost puts you back to sleep. You manage to rinse off where you need to, step back into the room fully expecting to see Mike passed out in your bed, but he's nowhere to be found. 

 As you crawl under the covers, you try to swallow the feeling of disappointment that's stuck in your throat. 

 *

Mike is up before almost everyone in the house the next morning, so he spends most of it trying to clean up alongside Levi, though he apparently isn't doing a very good job of it according to the smaller man. 

 "Jesus, have you ever mopped a floor in your life?" 

 "Oh, so we're just throwing everything in the same trash bag? No recycling? Your future kids will thank you for that, I'm sure."

 "No, there's no way I’m letting you wipe down the counters. Just move." 

 Levi is lucky Mike is as laid back as he is otherwise he would have thrown the little fuck into the koi pond behind the house a long time ago. 

 Erwin wakes up around nine and walks down looking a little rough, but Mike has definitely seen him in worse states. 

 "Thanks for cleaning up," he says, bent over the island and holding his head in his hands. "Pretty sure I would have thrown up if I'd tried. Several times."

 He tells the other two that pretty much everyone else started heading out at around three and that he has a list of party-goers he needs to text to make sure they made it home in one piece, "When I can actually fucking see straight."

 Naturally, the conversation turns to Mike. Erwin, with his cheek now pressed against the cool, granite countertop, smirks up at him and asks in a sly voice, "So, how was your night?' 

 Mike bites his lip to hide a smile, leans out of the kitchen to make sure you aren't stumbling down the stairs or traipsing about the house, then looks back to his friend and laughs, "Fucking mind-blowing, dude." He doesn't go into explicit detail—that's never been his style—but he does whisper about you taking him better than any other girl and that he's, "Addicted, dude. I genuinely think I am addicted to her pussy." 

 "Don't be fucking dramatic, Zacharias," you pop out behind him, slapping his back as you pass him to get to the fridge. He can see the ghost of a smile turning your lips up, but it's hard to feel satisfied at that when his own face is beet red. 

 Looking at Erwin, Mike throws his hands out by his side, mutters an incredulous, "Dude," that makes the other blond chuckle. 

 You grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, making Levi grumble, "Are none of you guys concerned about the planet? God damn."

 Standing between Mike and Erwin, you take a few gulps, all eyes on you until you swallow and question, "Can I help you?" Now that you're right next to him, Mike can hear a scratchiness to your voice, almost as if you're getting sick, but he knows better, knows exactly where it came from, and fuck if it doesn't make him twitch in his sweats. 

 "Have a good time at the party?" Erwin pries once again. 

 You look at him with a deadpan expression, then answer, "Seems like you already got the deets, so sure. I had a grand time."

 Mike isn't sure if you're being sarcastic about it just like you are everything else. You had just kind of left him hanging when you'd gone to shower. He hadn't thought too much into it even if he'd been a little bummed, but he thinks he understands. You just need more space than he does. 

 Or, it could have been that you hadn't enjoyed yourself. Oh god, what if you'd just been faking? What if you'd lied to him when he asked if he hurt you? What if you're in pain right now and just hiding it? 

 Mike zones out while you talk with Erwin and Levi about plans for the day, works himself into a nice little panic but is still able to hear you tell them you're just gonna head back to your mom's. 

 "You sure?" Erwin asks. "I know you only planned to stay one night, but you're more than welcome to hang out for longer. We’ll be here for at least another few days."

 Levi adds an, "Unfortunately," that earns him a hair ruffle he swats away. 

 "No, it's cool. I can't leave mom alone for the holiday or she'll start to think I don't like staying at the house."

 "You don't, though."

 "Yeah, but she doesn't have to know that."

 Mike stares after you as you take your water bottle and return upstairs, and it doesn't escape the notice of the other two men. 

 "You're so fuckin' whipped, man," Erwin teases. 

 Mike doesn't deny it, just holds up a middle finger. 

 Erwin isn't entirely wrong, though. Mike has been trying to deny it or play it off as nothing more than lust, but there's more to his feelings at this point. He tries not to be obvious around you, to keep his cards close to his chest because he knows you just want to keep things casual—barely even want that if he's being honest. 

 So he can hide it. He can pretend it isn't happening. In fact, Mike should be thankful that you only want sex (sometimes) because it leaves him to do whatever he wants. He could fuck other chicks left and right, and you wouldn't even bat an eyelash. That's a good thing, right? 

 That worry about last night still has him on edge, though, so before you can leave, Mike catches you in your room as you're packing up and closes the door. 

 He expects you to make some kind of comment about not being able to go again, but all you do is tilt your head to the side in a dangerously cute way. 

 "Hey, I, uh… I just wanted to make sure you felt okay after last night." 

 You blink at him, pause in folding your clothes, then show a wide, real grin. 

 "Yeah, I'm fine. Sore in various places—like, super sore—but I'm fine."

 Mike's mouth twists to hide his smirk, and he mumbles a low, "Sorry."

 "Don't ever apologize for your monster cock," you tell him, setting your shirt down on the mattress before pacing over to him. "Like, unless there's tearing of some sort, which there really shouldn't be since you're good at preparation, whoever you fuck should be okay. Sore but okay."

 His eyes go a little wide when you stop in front of him, looking up with an expression he's really never seen before—or maybe that you've never allowed him to see before—and the longer he stares, the more he realizes that you're god damn glowing. 

 Taking a chance, he finds your waist with his hands, inches just a little closer, then leans down when you stand on your toes and tug him by the shirt. 

 You taste like peppermint and already smell like the perfume you wear every day, the scent that has made Mike dizzy for the past few months. He moves a hand to your back to press your body into his, and when you take his bottom lip into your mouth, biting and sucking, he groans and pulls back before he can get too hard. 

 "What's all this? Why are you so perky this morning?" 

 "I get giddy after good sex," you say with a shrug. "Sue me."

 "That why you run away every time I fuck you?" He questions.

 You nod. "Couldn't run away this time, though."

 "I'm sure it's really bruising your pride, letting me see you all warm and gooey." 

 "I am not warm and gooey," you protest. "I was last night, but—"

 "Aw, gross, why'd you have to say it like that?" 

 You giggle—giggle—then remind him, "You're the one who felt the need to fucking fingerpaint."

 Mike vividly remembers the way your pussy looked covered in his cum, the way it felt to smear it and play with your swollen entrance and clit, and now… Now he is definitely hard again. 

 "Better stop before you end up on that bed again."

 Your eyes are dancing, tone mischievous when you respond, "Only if you're gentle."

 "Christ—"

 He's got you naked and spread on the mattress in less than thirty seconds, tongue buried in your cunt as he soothes every part of you he can reach. 

 It would be cruel to actually fuck you again. He knows you're probably a little more tender than you're letting on, so Mike settles for licking into you and flicking your clit, never using teeth as it swells in his mouth so that you pant and moan, and promise, "I can handle it, Mike, I can…"

 "I don't care if you can or can't. Just lemme do this."

 And, it's not like he hasn't pulled his cock from his pants, pumping it and coating his length in the pre-cum he drips at the mere sight of you.

 He can tell you're getting close when your thighs start to tense. You alternate between shifting your hips and going slack. It's the latter that you leak the most, pussy opening around his tongue only to clench a few seconds later. 

 "Just one finger, Mike, please, I want—I need something inside me, please, please," you moan. 

 Mike turns his face to kiss your thigh, sighing but giving in easily when he acquiesces, "Only one."

 The noise you make as he slides his middle finger into you is like music, high pitched and drawn out, with an awe one would sing hymns with. 

 "Yes, yes, yes, thank you, fuck, tha—"

 He understands why you wanted it so badly when he pulls it out and sees his finger coated in white, considers fucking you with it to the point of tears, but before he can, the door to the bedroom swings open and fucking Erwin walks in to ask, "Levi and I are going to the store—"

 “Jesus fuck, Erwin!" Mike swears. "A little busy here!"

 His friend is unfazed, but more importantly, you are too, arching your back, pulling Mike's hair to get him back where you want him, then moaning his name like you never have before as you come. 

 You tremble and take in stuttering breaths, and Mike does his best to hide your exposed pussy from prying eyes as he looks at Erwin and barks out a furious, "No, I don't need anything from the store. Get out."

 The blond shrugs and turns, walking out without shutting the door, and Mike swears he's gonna kill him. He's too bold and too entitled and now he's seen far too much of your body, and Mike doesn't like that. 

 "Did you come?" You ask in an airy voice. Mike guesses you could feel the rhythm of his hand on his cock, probably pushing his face harder against you with every pass. 

 "Uh, no. I don't know if you noticed, but Erwin walked in."

 "I noticed," you snort, sitting up on your elbows. "Why do you think I moaned your name like that?"

 "What?" It had seemed a little odd. Mike knows he's pretty good at oral, but you've never made a sound like that before. 

 "Fucker wanted to see what we were up to, I decided to show him. Now he knows how good you are."

 Mike stands, peers down at you skeptically and says, "You're being too nice to me today. It's freakin' me out a little."

 He doesn't think it's necessary to add that Erwin is already aware of his sexual prowess considering they definitely had a threesome with a rather adventurous girl back in freshman year. It's just not pertinent information. 

 "Soak it up, Zacharias. I'm sure the good mood will be gone by tomorrow."

 "Why, cause I won't be at your mom's to fuck you stupid every night?" His voice comes out cocky, but it's stifled by the way you squeal when he slaps a hand over your wet pussy.

 "I'm sensitive, you asshole!" You're smiling even as you whine. "And, here I was about to give you head to get you off."

 "I mean, you can still do that."

 You glare up at him the whole time you slide off the bed to your knees, warn, "Better hope I don't bite."

 *

 After you leave (and after making out against Mike’s Wrangler for a little too long), he goes back inside to find Erwin and Levi lounging in the den with a movie playing. He wastes no time in snapping his fingers at Erwin and commanding, "We're gonna talk."

 "Oh, are we?" Erwin doesn't even look away until Mike grabs the back of his shirt, and only then does he move from his spot. "Okay, okay, watch the wrinkles, bro."

 He follows Mike into the kitchen, out of earshot unless either of them raise their voices which… Could happen. 

 "What the fuck was that?" Mike hisses. 

 Erwin looks at him with big blue eyes and plays dumb, "What the fuck was what?" 

 Taking a deep breath through his nose, Mike makes sure his voice comes out low and steady, "Smith, I swear to God, it's been a long time since I've punched you, but you're fuckin' testing me, dude."

 Erwin smiles, face lighting up with what looks like excitement but could also be fury. 

 "Mike," he starts. "Don't tell me you're getting violent over a girl." His tone is patronizing, his eyebrows are high, and his grin is downright menacing. 

 "I haven't gotten violent yet," Mike grits. 

 "Hey, how was I to know what you two were doing up there?" 

 "It's not about you walking in, dude! It's about you just fucking standing there!"

 Erwin chuckles and blows him off, "Mike, I've seen your dick before. You've got nothing to worry about."

 "That's not what I'm worried about. You just, like, came in when she was in a vulnerable position, and that's fucked up."

 "She didn't seem to mind."

 Mike sucks his teeth, takes another grounding breath, then asks again, "Why? Why did you wait to leave?" 

 "You want me to be honest?" Erwin rolls his neck then his shoulders. Mike has seen him do that many times before lacrosse games to loosen up—to get ready for a fight. 

 Mike's fist clenches at his side. "Yeah, I do."

 "You've been making yourself crazy over this girl since the start of the semester, and I want to know why."

 "What do you mean?" Mike doesn't know why he asks, has a pretty good idea of what Erwin is alluding to. 

 The blond still dodges the question but in about the worst way possible. "It's not like you two are exclusive or anything."

 Mike feels the way his lungs fill to the point of burning, how his jaw clenches until his molars begin to ache under the pressure, and before he really knows what's happening, he's bowing up to his best friend. 

 Erwin matches him, only a couple inches shorter, chin tilted, that maddening light in his eyes. 

 "Walk away, Mike," he warns. "And, we can forget this little spat even happened."

 Mike peers down his nose at him, trying to rein in his emotions because Erwin is right. You two aren't exclusive. You don't want to be. You told him it was because you need to focus on school, but it could be that you want other options. 

 But fuck, Mike doesn't want Erwin to be one of them. He's stolen more than a few girls right from under Mike's nose with his stupid charm and stupid face and stupid money. He doesn't want you to fall prey to all of it too. 

 Mike doesn't even register the quiet footsteps padding into the kitchen, but Levi's smartass, "You guys about to kiss or somethin'?" definitely snaps him out of his head. 

 Stepping back, Mike resists the urge to punch the counter and break his fucking hand, then turns and strides out. 

 He's supposed to stay at the ranch house for a couple more days, but Mike needs to distance himself before he does something stupid. 

 When he comes back downstairs with his bag on his shoulder and his keys in his hand, Erwin seems to realize his error on at least some level and stands from his place on the couch. 

 "Mike, come on, I'm sor—"

 "Let me cool off, dude,” Mike snaps.

 Erwin shuts his mouth and sits back down, smart enough not to follow Mike outside.

[ next ]

[aion-rsa]

Ghosts Series 2: ‘They’re stuck in an existence they didn’t ask for… like all of us’

https://ift.tt/35QzhQ6

The Ghosts creators have worked together for over a decade. To-date, the six-person team (Mat Baynton, Simon Farnaby, Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond) have written and performed in long-running children’s sketch comedy Horrible Histories, three series of fantasy sitcom Yonderland, feature film Bill, and two series of the supernatural BBC comedy Ghosts, with a third on the way. 

Channelling Mrs Merton asking Debbie McGee what first attracted her to the millionaire Paul Daniels, I ask Baynton and Howick via Zoom what inspired the group to write Ghosts, a sitcom about a group of individuals who frequently drive each other nuts, trapped together for what may well be eternity? 

Both laugh. “I’m sure we do drive each other nuts in many ways,” says Howick, “but the truth is, like the ghosts, what we always come back to in these episodes is that they love each other and don’t know what they would do without each other. I think that can be said for the group?” He looks to Baynton for confirmation and gets a happy nod. 

Considering the well-documented fallings-out and imploding egos of other comedy gangs – the Pythons not least among them – this level of harmony over such a long period feels remarkable. What’s their secret? “I think we keep each other honest,” says Baynton. “There are certainly heated debates.”

Heated’s too strong a word, says Howick. “We only really fight for our opinion, we never fight each other.” On the rare occasion that there isn’t unanimity about a particular topic, there might be a locking of horns and a democratic vote, but real arguments don’t happen. “There’s no animosity or jealousy with each other’s independent careers,” he explains. “We are our most important project. We have no desire to work each other up. We’re all genuinely fond of each other.”

That much is clear watching them interact. The online BBC press launch for series two was punctuated by the group making each other laugh. Silly voices. Running jokes. At one point, to the absolutely delight of his colleagues, Simon Farnaby’s crotch moved unavoidably front and centre as he stood up in front of his webcam to adjust a window blind. The rapport is real. 

Indeed, during UK lockdown, say Baynton and Howick, the group’s regular Zoom calls drafting Ghosts series three were a godsend. Aside from the boon of having regular work when so much of their industry was in uncertainty, being able to see friends for three hours on a Wednesday evening kept them sane. 

“It’s been a tonic in an otherwise relatively difficult and quite miserable time to have been able to jump on Zoom and make each other laugh with ideas for these characters that we love,” says Baynton. Entertainingly, when the group splits off into writing pairs, each does impressions of the absent characters while drafting dialogue. “It’s funny,” remarks Howick. ‘When we come together as a six, if we’re trying to pitch a positive idea, it’s usually done in a [segues into the regional accent of his upbeat character] Pat voice. Or if it’s a melodramatic idea or if it’s over-the-top, it might be a [Baynton’s Romantic poet character] Thomas voice.” 

Via video chat, it took a little longer for the group’s writing wheels to start turning. Ordinarily a new series would start with two weeks of the gang together in the same room. Stretching that to months of three-hour Zoom calls, fitted in amongst home schooling for the parents among them, was an adjustment. “The energy that you would bring to a room at 10 o’clock in the morning in an office wasn’t there,” says Howick. “You’d have to try and generate this feeling even though everyone was exhausted.”

Howick found himself seeking out frivolity to reach the right frame of mind. He played videogames. “If I sat and thought too hard about what was going on outside my door, it would make me really sad, and so in order to keep a vital part of me going, in order to meet with Mat and the others every Wednesday and keep that bright demeanour, it was good to do that.” The writing momentum started to return with the ease of lockdown, says Baynton. “The simple mental health-saving fact of being able to meet up with family in a garden helped a lot.” 

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Trying to write comedy against a such a serious backdrop of world events also felt uncomfortable, says Baynton. “You feel like it’s almost… immoral is too strong a word, but when there are nurses and doctors and teachers and crucially important people doing the work they do… It felt like an elephant in the room to be tap tap tapping away at a story about another day at Button House and what the ghosts are up to.”

It helped to know how warmly Ghosts series one had been received by its many fans. “What’s touching is when we do get messages from fans who say how much the show means to them. I know how important comedy has been to me in my life, so if we can be that to other people, it doesn’t feel completely frivolous.”

Ghosts, with its colourful selection box of characters (there’s a caveman, a headless Elizabethan, a 17th century witch, an excitable Regency woman-child, an Edwardian snob, a WWII captain, a 1980s scout leader and a 1990s Tory politician) may look frivolous, but series one had moments of real pathos. Baynton is proud of the fact that the series doesn’t shy away from the bleaker side of its ‘dead people’ premise. “If you really interrogate the truth of it – these are people who lived, people who died, people who loved or were thwarted or killed or suffered injustices or never got to love the person that they admired…”

The original idea was for a much bigger cast of ghosts, with everybody playing multiple parts, Horrible Histories-style. It quickly became clear that the story needed to home in on a small ensemble, giving the gang what Howick calls “its own silhouette”. Had they stuck with the original plan, “It would have been like The Muppet Show,” he says. “Every week would only have scratched the surface.” Too many ghost characters would have diminished the show’s emerging premise, says Baynton, which is about “being stuck forever in a tedious and endlessly repetitive existence.”

A bit like lockdown, we joke. Exactly, says Baynton. 

“We talk about this a lot. The way I see it is that their situation is just the same as a living person’s: they’re stuck, they’re in an existence they didn’t ask for, they don’t know why they’re there or what happens next. They know that there is a next ‘thing’ but whether they go to heaven, or hell, or something else, they don’t know. They’re just the same as people on earth.”

Howick agrees, “Their existence is very mortal in that respect.” 

Writing about the afterlife, a sense of existential metaphor is unavoidable, says Baynton. “There is something deeply relatable about it, which is where sitcom will always thrive. You can’t really fail to connect with a story about a person who doesn’t know what to do with their time or who feels stuck. Regardless of class or job or circumstance, that is all of us.”

If the ghost characters are all of us, they’re also peculiar to their time period. The collision and unexpected blending of different social contexts is where much of the series’ comedy comes from. Howick compares the composition of the group to Blackadder Goes Forth, which kept “ranks of characters from different classes stuck together in a hell hole, cheating death every single week.” 

The source of much of the comedy is thwarted status, says Baynton, “It’s the stuff of Alan Partridge and Hyacinth Bucket and Basil Fawlty… people who see themselves a certain way but who aren’t that way to the audience. Every single one of the ghosts is that to some extent. Anything that gave you status in life, you’re robbed of the second you die, so that’s already pretty funny in the sense of a captain who can’t lead, a wealthy woman who has no wealth, a politician who is not recognised as an authority, a poet who can’t pick up a pen, a Scoutmaster with no kids…”

“Not Scoutmaster!” interrupts Howick. “Adventure Club leader!” Before series one aired, they were instructed not to use the “Scouts” organisation name in scripts. “That was before they knew who Pat was going to be,” says Howick. Pat, for info, is a sweetie, and the Scouts should be proud to have him. He’s also a vibrant dancer, as series two, episode two shows. 

“There’s a lot of dancing this series” says Howick. “Without giving too much away, there’s dancing in the last episode. I think Thomas’ best dance is at the end.”

Fans can expect more playfulness with series two. Now that the characters are established and the tone has been taken to heart, the team could afford to experiment a little more. “With series two, because the audience hopefully are with us at this point, we can throw different curveballs,” says Baynton.

“In that way that The Simpsons or those long-running American things, you can suddenly do one in black and white, as if it’s a Hitchcock thing. We’ve definitely had fun. There’s an episode later in the second series which is a format of its own. We’re thinking about those things for series three, being free to be really playful with it.”

There’s a Christmas special episode to come, “the last one ever to be filmed!” joked Farnaby at the press launch. The timing on series two’s filming was especially jammy, with only one day lost to the UK TV and film industry shutdown in March. They made the decision not to use supporting artists in the last scenes filmed, set in a Medieval plague village. The irony of having to tell actors they couldn’t come and play plague victims because there was an actual plague wasn’t lost on them, says Baynton.

Thomas gets a gun in series two, they tease, and we’ll find out how he met his end. “The burning question for fans of the show is how the characters died, and you will find out some in each series,” says Baynton. “There are some we’re holding onto for as long as we possibly can, but rest assured, they’re coming!” 

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Ghosts series 2 starts on BBC One at 8.30pm, with all six episodes available to stream afterwards on BBC iPlayer. 

The post Ghosts Series 2: ‘They’re stuck in an existence they didn’t ask for… like all of us’ appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2RKeoxw

[boredsingaporean]

Chapter 24: Take a Break, Have a Holiday

Choi, Nicky, Sally, Kah Leng, business development manager from the Singapore Capital Markets team, and I had been talking about making a trip together for quite some time. With the Christmas season break just one month away, we decided to work on a concrete plan. “So where can we go for a week’s break?” Choi asked. “Should we go London?” Nicky asked. “I’ve got some friends there and we can stay at their places and save on accommodation.” “But Nicky, I think most of London will be closed during the Christmas season,” Choi objected. “I’m sure not all places will be closed right?” “Let me check from the Internet.” After a few typing on the keypads and a few clicking and scrolling on the mouse, Choi turned his notebook screen to face us. “Dude, almost all shopping centers will be closed from twenty-fourth to twenty-sixth of December, most of the museums like the National Gallery will be closed, and even the Tower of London will be closed! What are we going to do there? Sit at Hyde Park outside Hard Rock Café and feed the pigeons?” “Maybe even the pigeons are not around,” I added. “I guess not everywhere is going to be closed right?” Nicky was skeptical. “Then how about those tour groups going over from Singapore? The tour guide must bring these tourists to somewhere right?” “Erm… I think in most Europe tour packages that touch on London, our tour agencies only arrange visits to the Big Ben, along the House of Parliament, at the gate outside Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, London Bridge and Tower Bridge. So they’ll never have any opening or closing problem.” I explained. “Anyway, London will be too cold for me,” Sally added. “Okay, fine. Let’s go somewhere else then,” Nicky sulked. “Guys, I read from the newspapers that there is this Icehotel in Sweden where the whole hotel is built using the mountain water from Torneälven River. Every thing there, even the furniture is made of ice. Pretty cool huh?” I suggested avidly. “You meant pretty cold,” Kah Leng commented. “Beng, I know Ms. Xiao Long Niu from Louis Cha’s Chinese wuxia novel, The Return of the Condor Heroes, slept on ice. But she had very powerful inner strength, a.k.a. nei gong, which we commoners don’t have,” Nicky mocked. “Hey, you’ll be provided with a sleeping bag with liner!” I argued. “Erm… if you don’t mind, I’ll prefer to sleep on a white goose feather and down featherbed,” said Kah Leng. “Anyway, it’s not worth going to the Scandinavians in winter, when the days are short and the nights are long. Too much time wasted sleeping,” added Nicky the typical Hong Konger that believed that time is money. “Okay, let’s go somewhere else then,” I gave up. “Since most places in the western countries will be closed for the Christmas season, and their days will be rather short, why don’t we stay in Asia Pacific instead?” I suggested. Besides the issue of having shorter days, we could have problems finding our meals as well. Most restaurants in the western countries will be closed during the holidays. This meant that we would have to either take ridiculously expensive dinners in the hotels, or settle with cheap but almost inedible Chinese food. The hardworking Chinese businessmen do not believe in closing for holidays. In fact, knowing that most western cafes and restaurants will be closed and hungry souls will be awash on the street, most budget Chinese restaurants are happy to remain opened for even longer hours during the holidays. However the problem with these budget Chinese restaurants is that most of them only serve gong bao chicken, sweet and sour chicken or beer or pork, deep fried chicken or beer or pork and fried rice or noodles, and most of these dishes taste, well, funny. “How about Gold Coast or Cairns?” Sally suggested. “Err… Sally, Australia and New Zealand will be having their summers during that period,” Choi said. “And I’m not very keen in getting sunburn.” “You can always put on some sun block lotion what.” “I don’t really like the feeling of perspiring so much under a layer of sun block lotion,” Choi still rejected the idea. “It reminds me of those national service days when I had to wear camouflage face paint and scout around in the hot forest, with houseflies trying to land on my face all the time. Oh, that reminded me. There are tons of houseflies in Australia during their summers.” Okay, our destination should be in Asia and not Asia Pacific. Anyway, it might not be a good idea to walk beside a constantly perspiring Choi for a week. “Let’s go to Taiwan. None of us has ever being to Taiwan right?” Kah Leng suggested. “Hmm… Taiwan sounded good,” I agreed. “There are a couple of scenic national parks in Taiwan, like the Taroko National Park and Yangmingshan National Park.” “Erm… I was thinking more of the shopping areas there,” Kah Leng admitted. “And Taipei 101.” “Yah! I heard that the crystal jewellery there is stunning! And their fashion is also very ahead of us! Wow, so many things to buy!” said Sally, the other shopping queen. “And the night markets there! Like Shi Ling night market!” Choi exclaimed. “I heard they’ve got this super-sized chicken chop there that is simply delicious!” “Err… guys,” Nicky interrupted our excitement. “I’m not really into Taiwan. To me, Taiwan seems to look like another Hong Kong. And I would rather return to Hong Kong since I prefer the food there.” “Oh…” “Hey, you guys can still go ahead without me. It is okay, I don’t mind! I can always return to Hong Kong and spend the holidays with my friends and relatives there.” “No, no, no. We won’t just desert you like that. Let’s think of another destination then,” Kah Leng gave up Taiwan though she seemed to be disappointed. Well, if we said we will travel as a team, we will travel as a team. “How about Japan? Like Hokkaido?” Sally asked. “I’ve just seen Globe Trekker on the Discovery Travel channel introducing Hokkaido and it seems interesting. They have a musical box museum where you can choose the tune that you like and make your own musical box, a white chocolate factory, and the Kitaichi Glass Shop reputed for its unique and elegant hand-blown glassware.” “Good idea! Then we could try their snow crab and king crab which are as big as lobsters! We could have crab sashimi, crab tempura, yaki crab, crab miso soup, baked stuffed crab shells and crab hand rolls! Hahaha…” Choi thrived at the thought of food again. “Erm… Choi, I heard that these crabs are expensive,” said Sally. “Hey girl, you could only get them there. You’ll regret if you don’t try!” “Wait… though the thought of Hokkaido with snow flakes floating down from the sky seems romantic, I must remind you people that Hokkaido is also famous for being very very cold,” I reminded. There was nothing wrong with my language. I had used two ‘very’s intentionally to emphasize on the extreme coldness of Hokkaido. Winter temperatures in Hokkaido are known to remain well below zero and can even drop to as low as minus fifteen degree Celsius. The occurrences of heavy snow and gusty winds are also common. “I’m more worried about you girls. Nicky should still be okay with the cold weather because Hong Kong could be pretty cold sometimes too. Choi, I’m not so worried too because he has got a think insulation layer…” Choi raised an eyebrow at me and folded his arms. I continued: “But are you girls sure that you can stand the harsh weather? Are you aware that the temperature could drop to as low as minus fifteen degree Celsius?” Both gals pondered upon what I had said, looked at each other, and then nodded their heads to indicate that they agreed with me that Hokkaido was a bad idea. “Then how about South Korea? It won’t be as cold as Hokkaido and it’s just as interesting,” Kah Leng suggested. “Oh yes! South Korea! Why didn’t I think of that?” Sally blurted. “Then I can visit the filming sites for Winter Sonata and Jewel in the Palace!” “What’s Jewel in the Palace?” Choi asked. Kah Leng, Sally and Nicky stared at Choi as if he was saying that pigs can climb trees as good as cats. “Jewel in the Palace is the most popular Korean drama in South Korea, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore and even Malaysia!” the shock Nicky hollered. “What is it about? Some kind of Korean Tomb Raiders show with smart and armed thieves stealing hilariously expensive crown jewellery from the royal palace?” “No!” This time, Sally hollered at Choi. “It is about how Jang-Geum the heroine fought through a feudalistic society with serious sexual discrimination, defeated all the male doctors in the palace and became the first female head physician of the Joseon Dynasty! It is based on a real story!” “Not your type of bimbos kicking action movie,” I nudged Choi. “Okay, fine. But why are we going to those Korean TV serials filming sites?” Choi protested. This time, Kah Leng and Sally stared at Choi as if he was saying that pigs are more intelligent than women. “Err… but I kind of have problem with those spicy Korean kimchis,” said Nicky. “Don’t worry, Nicky. They’ve got other non-spicy food like claypot rice, stew beef, seafood fermented in salt, BBQ beef and ginseng chicken soup,” Kah Leng consoled. “Ginseng chicken soup? I like it!” Nicky grinned. “And we mustn’t forget that South Korea has got a cheap and good skiing resort,” Kah Leng grinned. “And breath-taking scenery at Jeju island,” I grinned. “So do you have any objection to South Korea, Choi?” Kah Leng asked. “Well, with lots of pretty Korean girls surrounding me, and lots of delicious food, I’ve got no problem,” Choi grinned. Gosh, finally the five of us had agreed on our tour destination. Since South Korea was a popular tour destination among Singaporeans, we needed to quickly decide on the tour details. “Should we go on a packaged tour or a free and easy one?” I asked. “Beng, we can’t go on a packaged one. Sally’s Chinese is pretty bad and Kah Leng can’t even write our company name in Chinese,” Nicky commented. “Yah, and most of these packaged tours have Chinese speaking tour guides,” Kah Leng agreed. “Okay, which means that we’re going free and easy…” I agreed, and then suddenly realized that something was amiss. “But which one of you speaks Korean?”

[247krp]

— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Jackson Wang, spotted prancing about in the Southwest Side. I don’t remember seeing him with any clique back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say wild and secretive? Apparently now he spends time as a model at Pan Modelling Agency and the owner of his own fencing studio, and keeps skeletons buried at Prague Tower, 502. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, King Puppy; we missed you so.

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

If Cheongnam High School ever had a brawns over brains it was Wang Jackson. He came in like a tempest, causing chaos and leaving a huge impression, both negative and positive. He was accepted into the school on an outstanding athletic transfer and was the shiny new toy that most of the cliques kept an eye on in hopes of snaring him as another of their minions. What none of them had anticipated was the cute new jock actually being having an entirely hidden side to him, one that was calculating and quite manipulating. He took on Cheongnam High School with a plan, the goofy smile that marked his happy-go lucky persona never seemed to leave his face. He became the kid that circled around the cliques, getting to know them well enough before migrating to another one gaining connections. There were two popular opinions about this crowd hopper. Either you found him charismatic, easy to get along to and a compassionate soul that you’d worry about in the real world or you found him obnoxious, indecisive and a general mess, but not enough to downright despise the guy. Gossip girl was able to dig out a couple juicy rumors from the bare skeleton of drama he created. The first had been about Jackson’s sexuality, but after shrugging off the accusations he was once again back to being the campus’ wild puppy that you either adored or were itching to put in the pound. The second and last rumor Gossip Girl had spread around about him was about him swindling the grand companies of the spoiled little rich kids around through hacking. At first he was faced with hostility and suspicion, there was also plenty who laughed at the exclamation. The kid who couldn’t write hangul to save his life? And most agreed. Unless he had a partner of course, but with the lack of concrete evidence that rumor was once again subsided until it vanished under the scandal of the glittering elites.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

Now everyone’s favorite Wang puppy is back in town, a full time model at Pan Modelling agency and entrepreneur of his own fencing studio “Team Wang”. The goofy smile that once constantly marred his face is now replaced by the gentle smile of a serious, hardworking young man. How nice, now if only anyone could figure out how he got there. Did his connections from high school really come in handy or did some help beyond the law get him there? Jackson has become a professional, retaining his charismatic trait, but in a much calmer state. People who have never met him before are astounded by his extroverted nature, but those who knew him in high school would wonder why he’s become so watered down. He’s no longer group hopping and instead has found a group of his own, ones that he either pays at his studio or the fellow models and stylists that he works with daily. It seems that a hint of his true nature was also revealed with him only keeping contact with the few that he finds inflectional or that he truly got to know and befriend. He’s no longer the Wang Jackson who makes foolish choices for attention, instead he’s a familiar face on magazines that has the paparazzi feeding right out of his hand.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

Jackson grew up in Hong Kong with his mother, father and elder brother; a family of middle class national level coaches and athletes. His childhood was filled with love and fond memories. As a child there was never a moment he doubted his parent’s affections for him, he would even admit that he was spoiled. His elder brother on the other hand was the one that was always firm with him unlike their parents. This became more obvious as Jackson aged into a young teenager, the sudden amount of testosterone causing his emotions to run rampant. His parents still let him get away with everything, showering him with gifts and never once lecturing him. Instead of it being reassureing, Jackson began to feel frustrated, he’d watch his father scold his elder brother and hold him up to expectation. He’d watch his parent’s face glow when his elder brother came home with straight A’s where as they were happy with whatever he made. He would listen to his mother argue with his brother in worry over his future where as she would tell Jackson to become whatever he wished. Jackson felt the selfish need to have that kind of attention rather than feeling like a spoiled guest in his own home. When his older brother, the only one who he felt truly understood him left home and moved across the entire planet his life suddenly became suffocating. He began avoiding his parents and spent most of his time practicing fencing or working out; he tried everything and anything to stay out of the house.

One day his elder brother contacted him about a friend that lived in Seoul and was offering a place of solace for Jackson. When he brought it up with his parents, for the first time in his life they refused him. Thus solidifying his decision even further to move out and apply to elite institutes in South Korea. After being accepted in Cheongnam High School and moving to South Korea, Jackson felt the need to cause further trouble. He skipped classes despite studying the material, so that his father would receive notices. He stayed out late and the in the dangerous parts of Seoul, so his brother’s friend would report back to his family. He knew he was acting like an attention seeking brat, but he finally felt like a part of the family every time he picked the phone to his father’s harsh scolding or his mother’s nagging. He realized that the physical distance between them had brought them closer in relation and decided that he’d stay his entire High School years in South Korea and make plans to permanently stay in the future.

He began running with the mafia as an informant by befriending the elites in his school, going to parties with them and watch as they get wasted while spilling their family’s secrets. Eventually through his connections he met an infamous hacker who promised him 40% of their income as his front man. As a high schooler, he knew that was the best bet he was going to get, so he took him up on his offer. He’d visit corporations with cliques in his school and while hanging out he’d often find ways for the hacker to get into the server. It was through this partnership that he was able to save up enough money after graduation to not only buy his parent’s a house, but after start a fencing studio of his own. While teaching at his studio, he met a scout from Pan Modelling Agency and become their Chinese ambassador. After the successful startup of his fencing studio, Jackson moved to Korea to continue his modelling career and look into opening a second studio in Seoul.

After becoming a well-known model Jackson was often attending events and fundraisers. Recently he was at a fundraiser for blood donations when he discovered something about himself and his family. He felt a numb coldness grasp his heart as he realized that his blood type wasn’t compatible with anyone in his family. Suddenly all those years of pampering and spoiling made sense. It had always seemed like his parents were apologizing to him, pitying him even. He had brushed it aside assuming it was feelings that accompanied his complex. After hiring a private investigator he discovered that his worst fear was true and that he was indeed adopted. He wasn’t his mother and father’s son and his brother wasn’t even his real brother. Soon after the discovery he fell into suicidal depression and one day after he felt himself contemplating how it would feel falling from his balcony he drove himself to the psychologist who diagnosed him and gave him anti-depressants in hopes of helping his symptoms. He has still yet to tell his family that he knows and has been ignoring their phone calls and texts. Right now he’s burying himself in his work and trying to find something to fill the void that opened up in his heart.